Paris in Flames
by asheniel
Summary: "He started to call out to them, because at the moment, he wanted someone to comfort him. But the hoarse cry died in his throat as he watched them so that all he could do was stand there and stare, eyes wide." A story about Pyro as a kid.
1. LosTiNPaRIS

::Authors Notes:: A fic about Pyro as a kid. I don't know a lot about Pyro, so he'll probably seem out of character, even though he's only eight in this anyway. And I realize that he's from Australia and he's supposed to have a sense of humor…but I don't know enough about Australian accents, or Australian people, to write them and humor wouldn't have worked with this story. So. Err the only thing that actually fits the **actual** Pyro is his powers…but not yet. This is only partially finished cuz I've been working on it for a really long time and I wanted to post what I had. So it sort of cuts off abruptly at the end, but the rest should be up…sometime. It depends when I get to write. So I wrote this based off of some things I'd seen while working w/ a group of underprivileged kids over the summer. The characters are entirely fictional but a lot of their situations, and some quotes, aren't. There's also some drug crap and implications of child abuse, but not a lot, so don't read if you don't want to hear it. Other than that, I hope u like.

"Now it's time to wrap our fears in the night, and on the first day we'll dress this city in flames."

--Thursday (Paris in Flames)

Paris in Flames

By asheniel

Johnny twisted a blade of grass between his fingers, then tossed it into the fire. Hot flames rose from the rusted metal grill, and, sighing, he tossed several frozen burger patties on it. Another roar of laughter from behind him sent a wave of anger coursing through his system. He should have known. He should have known that they would lie, as usual, as _always_. Why did it surprise him anymore?

"What the hell are you thundering down the stairs for?" His mother had demanded by way of greeting, rolling her bloodshot eyes and exhaling as he had come downstairs that morning. He had stared at her, disbelieving, unable to comprehend. She _had_ to remember that today was his birthday. She was playing a joke. There were people waiting to surprise him in the living room. After all of his reminders…

"What're you staring at me like that for? You look like your father does when he sees a fourteen year old girl." She had rolled her eyes again and turned away, completely oblivious to all the hurt that was bubbling through her son's body. "Where's Kelly, anyway? You didn't leave her upstairs, did you?"

He had shaken his head silently and looked away, fighting the sting in his nose. They were _supposed_ to remember. They were _supposed_ to keep this one promise. It wasn't every day that he would turn eight…tears had welled up in his eyes and he fought to keep them down, knowing that his mother would yell at him for acting like a baby over something silly.

"What's wrong with you?" She had demanded, her eyes narrowing.

"Nothing."

"Bull. Why're you crying?"

"It's_ nothing_."

"Johnny, get back here. I want to know why you're crying." She had grabbed him by the arm and forced him to face her, pulling his chin up with the end of her cat-like fingernail. "Now tell me, Johnny. There isn't nothing you can do about it if you don't tell your own mamma." Her last words were touched with the slightest bit of coaxing, and, encouraged, he had lifted his gaze, trying to blink away the unwanted tears that had pooled in his eyes. 

"Today's my birthday, Ma." He had bitten his lip and averted his eyes, all too aware of how pitiful he looked. He hated to cry and he rarely ever did it anymore, but the way she had been looking at him with the concern of a real mother had evoked the sensitive little boy inside of him, a part that had been buried with the years of ridicule he had suffered for being such a wuss. 

Her eyes, blurry and swimming with broken shards of reality, widened and flashed with guilt as she remembered all of the promises that she had made in order to get him to stop bothering her. Apparently they had meant something to him. Pursing her lips, she had smiled at her son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten, Johnny. We got big plans for you tonight, okay?"

His expression brightened. "Oh…really? I thought you and Dad had forgotten…"

She frowned at him, irritated that he had hit on the truth. "How could you think that we had forgotten our own son's birthday?" She demanded, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

"Sorry," Johnny said quickly, "I wasn't thinking."

"That's right, you weren't. Now if you'll go and get Kelly for me, I won't call the party off."

He had rushed upstairs, newfound excitement and faith in his parents surging through his veins, and snatched Kelly, his two year old sister, who had been sitting in her room, jabbering quietly to herself. As he had deposited her in his mother's arms, he fought the urge to ask a million questions about his surprise party. She might cancel it because he was asking too many questions. But still, the desire to know was too much, and he couldn't help but blurt out just one thing.

"Is there gonna be a cotton candy machine?" His friend had once had a party with a cotton candy machine. There had been a clown, too, but Johnny considered himself too old for that. He glanced up at his mother hopefully and immediately regretted it, for his mother's eyes flickered with annoyance and she turned to her son, Kelly balanced precariously on her hip and a renewed scowl curling across her face. 

"Johnny," she said, giving him a look, "why do you have to ask me all these questions? Don't you trust your own parents to give you what they promised?"

"Sorry," he had said quickly, not remembering how often his parents got angry at him for not trusting him over promises that they rarely ever kept. "Sorry," he repeated, biting his lip nervously. His mother merely continued to scowl at him, and in a sudden bolt of panic, he just _knew_ that the party would be canceled now. "Sorry," he had said again, his tone rising to a pathetic squeak as he felt his nose start to sting up again. "I didn't mean to be rude, Ma…I'm sorry." 

She had stared at him, her upper lip curling again as she took note of the glassiness in his eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ," she had said finally, turning away, "don't you ever stop crying?" When she was answered by a muffled sniffle, she had looked at him again. "Stop crying," she ordered, using her free hand to take his chin between her fingers and give it a small shake. "It's fuckin' pitiful, Johnny…aren't you turning eight today? Huh?"

He had nodded silently, her words merely evoking more tears to leak from the corners of his eyes.

"Then start acting your age," she commanded, "instead of wallowing around like a kicked puppy or something. You're a big guy now, okay? You're not supposed to cry over every little thing." She lifted the cigarette to her lips, not taking her gaze off of him. "Okay?"

"Okay," he had managed, trying to suppress his tears, at least until he could get somewhere private.

"Good," she had replied, "now go play outside or something. I've got to run some errands."

He nodded and started to move toward the door, but then paused, biting his lip nervously. "Um…Mom?"

She looked at him, chewing at the end of her cigarette. "Yeah, Johnny."

"Well, can I ask you one thing? So I know what time I should be home for—for tonight."

"Your party's at six, so just be back before then."

"Oh…okay, thanks." He had tried to smile at her to let him know that he really was grateful, that he _did_ trust her—but she didn't seem to get the message. Instead, she had turned her back on him, a plume of smoke dangling gently at her lips, and didn't reply.

Johnny sighed again, louder this time. _Happy birthday to me_, he thought grimly, staring at the chunks of ice that had encrusted the meat slowly melt away and drip into the fire. He wondered if this was how all of his birthdays would end up. He would cook the food while his parents would have a good time. His mother was supposed to be helping him, but she had gone inside almost an hour ago and he could see her now through the kitchen window. Her and several of her friends, smoking cigarettes and drinking beers as they laughed and had a good time. And it was _his_ birthday. Sometimes it all just seemed so unfair. They were supposed to have gotten all the neighborhood kids together…instead, they had rounded up their own friends and then blamed him for not taking responsibility for his own party. Catering to his father for the rest of the night was his punishment. 

Johnny bit his lip, fighting down the angry tears. He wasn't going to cry this time. But it just wasn't fair that he was being punished on his own birthday. He hadn't even gotten one present or a 'happy birthday' from anyone…

"Hi Johnny." 

He looked up, surprised, to see Abby, a girl that lived down the street and he also liked. "Hi," he replied, his cheeks flushing, then blurted out, "you're not supposed to be here." 

She shrugged her small shoulders and glanced about with mild interest flickering in her eyes. "I thought today was your birthday," she said, frowning. "Aren't you gonna have a party?"

Johnny opened his mouth to tell her that what she was seeing right now _was_ the party, but was suddenly overcome by shame. What would she think if she found out that this was all that his parents had provided for him? No, he wouldn't tell her. She had had a birthday party once, earlier in the summer when she had turned nine. He didn't want anyone to think that his family was poor, anyway.

"No," he said boldly, and then, after an awkward pause, he added, "my Dad says I'm too old to have them anymore."

She stared at him, clearly suspicious. "Why're you so mad then?"

"I'm not mad," he said defensively, "I was _cooking_."

"Okay," Abby shrugged, the fading sunlight illuminating the flood of freckles that splattered her thin shoulders and harshly jutting cheekbones. She paused and studied the burgers roasting on the grill. "Are you supposed to eat those?"

"They're for my dad and his friends," Johnny replied, rising to his feet.

She looked at him for a moment, standing almost a head taller than he was. "Oh," she said finally, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think burgers are supposed to look like that."

"Yeah they are," Johnny started to explain, but she cut him off.

"Want to come with me? I'm gonna show you somethin'."

"But I'm supposed to cook."

"Just for a second, Johnny. It's really cool."

"Well…" he hesitated, glancing back at the porch where his father sat. "I don't want to get into trouble."

Abby rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "You won't Johnny. We'll be back in five minutes, I promise!"

Johnny bit his lip, casting another glance back at the porch, and then through the kitchen window where his mother was visible. "Fine, but you better hurry up," he said finally, "otherwise my dad's gonna be really mad at _both_ of us." 

"Then c'mon!" Abby rushed off in the direction that she had come from, skirting through several backyards then sprinting down the road behind his house.

"Where're we going?" Johnny called as he ran behind her. 

"You'll see!" She shouted back, and, approaching the local gas station, she cut through the side yard and continued to run through a huge field, mostly made up of dead grass, several dumpsters, and garbage. Almost a quarter mile out there was an abandoned gas station – probably the original one – half-built and crumbling into itself. A lot of the neighborhood kids went there often to play though it was clearly dangerous, and over the years it had been used as a clubhouse, a fort, personal territory for whoever claimed their grounds first, and several other variously exciting things that Johnny had often participated in. 

He came to a stop behind her, gasping for breath. She turned to him, smiling proudly. "Well, here it is!" She exclaimed, sweeping her hand in an arrogant, exaggerated motion. 

He frowned, slightly disappointed. "I've been here before, though," he said doubtfully.

"Well, of course you have, dummy," she said, shaking her head. "I'm talking about the _secret_ part that I found and no one else knows about." 

"Oh…okay…" Johnny trailed off, waiting for Abby to continue. When she merely continued to smile proudly, he said, "um…am I allowed to see?"

"Well…only if you swear on your _grave_ that you won't tell anybody," Abby said, "not even your best friend. Or your mom." 

"I swear," Johnny said quickly. 

"Cross your heart and hope to die," Abby added, fixing an imperial glare upon him.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Johnny recited, solemnly putting a hand across his chest. 

Abby stared at him as if unsure of whether to trust him or not. "You better not be crossin' your fingers," she said warningly.

He held up his hands to show her that he wasn't, and she nodded, satisfied. "Okay then. C'mon, we hafta be real quiet." They took off, tiptoeing toward the building although no one was there. 

"C'mon!" Abby squealed as she rushed forward, pulling open the door and slamming it shut behind them. "That was close," she said, leaning against the door and sighing dramatically. "They almost had us, you know."

"Yeah," Johnny said, excitement rushing through his body. 

"Now you have to be quiet," Abby said in a loud and conspiritual whisper, " 'cause we don't want anyone else findin' out about this place. Okay, Johnny?"

"Okay."

They moved down a series of steps into a tiny half-basement that lay under the base of the building. Dust choked their eyes and both blinked back the wateriness, determined. It was pitch black as they reached the foot of the stairs, and they groped along the wall until they came upon a lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling. 

"Found it," Abby whispered triumphantly as it flickered and came on, illuminating the cramped space in a sickish yellow glow. There was a pile of cardboard boxes and old tires shoved into messy pile up against a corner of room which had temporarily been used as a secret clubhouse for several exclusive girls. 

"Follow me," Abby said, stepping into a tiny nook in the room where the ceiling sloped downward so it just barely grazed Johnny's head. Here, it had often been used as a superb hiding place, but overexposure had led it to become boring. Since everybody that came to play there knew about it, it had soon become abandoned and dusty. Johnny crouched on his knees, fighting the urge to sneeze. He had no idea why they were both just squatting there, as if waiting for something. Then, Abby whispered, "I found it!" She scooted backward several steps, bumping into him as she did so, pulling open what appeared to be a trapdoor. 

"Now we both gotta get in here…move back a little," Abby whispered.

Johnny complied silently, allowing Abby to wiggle into the empty space, then slide forward and out of sight.

"Abby?" Johnny said in a hushed tone, moving toward the trapdoor. "Abby?" 

"Right here," she replied, sticking her head out. "C'mon in. I think there'll be room for both of us."

Johnny slid forward uncertainly, groping for a foothold as he lowered himself into a small space that couldn't have been wider than two or three feet. It was pitch black, and after struggling for several minutes, Abby lit a candle and stepped back, a proud grin forming across her lips. 

"What d'ya think?" She asked. 

Johnny took a glance around before answering. What he saw pleasantly surprised him. Although he had to crouch to avoid grazing his head against the ceiling and the air was thick and stuffy where they were, it couldn't have been better in an eight year old boy's mind. Dirty wooden boards, some rotting along the edges, enclosed the room into a makeshift box. It was about three feet by six feet, and the flickering candlelight sent black shadows dancing along the walls. An excited shiver went down his spine and a slow smile spread across his face, and he turned to Abby, grinning widely now. "How'd you find this?"

She shrugged, clearly pleased that he was impressed. "It's a secret," she said, giggling, and sat down on the floor. "Sit down."

Johnny did so, pulling his knees up to his chest for lack of space for his legs to go. They sat facing each other, the candle in between them casting dark shadows under their eyes and noses. 

"Do you think we should shut the door?" Johnny asked, motioning toward the door above their heads.

"We can leave it open," Abby said carelessly, "and if we hear someone else coming, we can just hurry and close it." 

"Okay," Johnny said agreeably. He paused, then added, "this is really neat."

"I know," Abby replied, flicking her hair behind her ear importantly and sitting up a little straighter. "When I first found it, it was really dirty and everything. I had to clean it up without help from my mom or anything, and I even had to steal this from my sister." She gestured to the plain white candle sitting between them, and nodded contentedly. "I like to come here when I'm mad."

"Oh…" Johnny thought for a moment, unsure of what that meant. "You're not mad right now, are you?"

Abby looked at him, surprised. "No, not really…" She shrugged and glanced at him again. "I just wanted to come here. And you were mad, I think. I didn't want you to be mad anymore and I knew you wouldn't tell no one."

Johnny rose up indignantly. "I wasn't mad—" he started to retort, but she cut him off impatiently. 

"It doesn't matter Johnny, I don't care if you were mad or not."

"Well, still, I wasn't mad," he insisted, "so stop saying I was."

Abby stared at him, her eyes reflecting an amber color from the candle. "It's okay if you were," she said diplomatically, " 'cause I get mad a lot too." 

Johnny looked moodily into the candle and didn't say anything.

"Wanna see something Johnny?" Abby asked suddenly.

He looked up, slightly interested, and shrugged. "Okay." 

"But you can't tell anyone," Abby said warningly, " 'cause I'll get in a whole lot of trouble if you do. Promise?"

"Yeah," he replied.

Abby smiled proudly and lifted the bottom edge of her tee-shirt to reveal a long scar that began several inches under her navel. It was thick and black along the edges where the cut skin had been brought together, and weirdly wrinkled. "It goes all the way to my armpit," she said, grinning. "My dad was in a bad mood once and he hit me with my ma's cooking knife. It hurt really bad then," she continued, "but I can't even feel it anymore. I had to get a ton of stitches, too. I can't even remember the number 'cause it's so big." She paused to allow Johnny to stare at it for a second more, than dropped her shirt and fixed a solemn glare at him. "You better not tell anyone, Johnny. Otherwise you'll get in big trouble too." 

"I won't," Johnny said, biting his lip. "Weren't you scared when your dad did that?"

Abby shrugged nonchalantly. "I was _sort_ of scared, I guess. But he gets mad a lot so it wasn't weird or nothing." 

"Why was he mad?"

"I don't know," Abby shrugged again. "He just gets like that sometimes. Mostly him and Mom just scream at each other but she wasn't home, I don't think."

"Oh…" Johnny was silent, still not sure what could make someone so angry. Whenever _he_ got angry he usually cried…but then, he remembered, with an odd sensation in his mind, his mother telling him that when you're older, you're not supposed to cry. He briefly wondered if he was supposed to hit people instead. 

Abby giggled suddenly. "I miss my boyfriend," she confided. "But I think he's gonna be real mad that I brought you here before I brought him."

Johnny's mind got no further than the former statement, first jealousy then disappointment flooding his mind. He didn't say anything and, his moodiness returning, he scowled at Abby. "I don't care. I'm gonna beat him up then."

Abby laughed, making Johnny feel a little better. "No you won't," she said a bit maliciously, "because he's _fifteen_ and he's a lot bigger than you."

Johnny's brief satisfaction evaporated and he felt his ears and neck go red with embarrassment. "So?" He said finally, trying to think of something smart to say, "I don't care about your stupid boyfriend."

Abby laughed again, meanly. "He'd hit you if I told him you called him stupid."

Johnny had a brief vision of a huge man towering above him and stabbing him across the chest, leaving a big gash just like Abby's. "Oh…" He said finally, his anger fading away to be replaced by a twinge of fear.

"He hit me in the eye once 'cause I called him stupid," Abby added. "It was all black for a week after."

"Oh…" Johnny said again, and stared at the candle. "Why'd you call him that?"

" 'Cause he wanted to fight my dad when I told him about my scar," Abby replied smugly. "But I told him that he can't 'cause my dad's a lot bigger than he is but he still wanted to anyway. So I called him stupid and he hit me." She shrugged. "I think he was real brave though. He's not afraid to get in trouble or hurt or nothing like that." 

Johnny wasn't sure what to say, so he remained silent, concentrating on the flickering candle.

"I won't tell him that you said he was stupid, I guess," Abby decided, "but you better not say it again. 'Cause I don't want to keep secrets from him or nothing." 

Johnny looked at her, then back at the candle. "Okay." 

They were silent for a minute. 

"I brought something for us." Abby said finally, smiling mischievously. "I stole it offa my brother."

"What is it?" Johnny asked curiously.

Abby grinned in reply and reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out two slim white cigarettes.

"Why do you have those?" Johnny demanded. 

Abby gave him a look. "Don't be stupid," she said matter-of-factly. "I've decided that today we're both gonna do it for the first time."

Johnny stared at her incredulously. "I don't want to _smoke_."

"_Johnny_, we're not gonna _smoke_," Abby replied, rolling her eyes. "Obviously this is totally different."

"What is it then?"

Abby stared at the twin sticks in her palm for a moment before answering. "I forget what it's called. But it's not a cigarette."

Johnny pondered this for a moment then reached forward and took one from her. "Yes it is," he said, studying it carefully. "I've seen these a lot. My ma smokes cigarettes."

"Johnny, why aren't you listening to me?" Abby demanded, snatching it back. "This isn't a cigarette. It's something else. I know, okay? My brother does it and he says it's a lot better than a cigarette."

"You'll die if you smoke that," Johnny snapped, ignoring her. "I don't wanna die. My teacher said smoking will kill you if you do it."

Abby glowered at him. "But it isn't smoking. My brother knows, Johnny. He said it isn't a cigarette."

Johnny shook his head. "No," he said firmly, "I'm not doin' it. I'm not gonna die."

"Johnny, you're so stupid," Abby replied, annoyed. "You're not gonna die. I just told you that my brother does it all the time. He isn't stupid, you know. He wouldn't do it if he knew he was gonna die."

"I don't care."

Abby sighed loudly, exasperated. "My brother said that when you do it, you can make one wish and if you think about it hard enough, it'll come true. Sort of like a birthday cake, except that that don't work." 

Johnny ignored her. 

"Fine," Abby said angrily, "I'll do it by myself. I was just trying to be nice, stupid. I wanted you to make a wish too." She leaned back against the wall, clutching them tightly in her fist. "I think I'll wish that you'll go away."

Johnny glared at her fiercely, and she giggled. "Or maybe I'll wish that you'll turn into a spider so I can smush you." 

"Shut up," Johnny retorted, his ears getting hot. 

"I'll give you one more chance," Abby said in a singsong voice, "and if you won't do it, than you have to leave and I hate you. But if you do you get to own this room with me and you can have a wish." She grinned toothily at Johnny, waiting for his reply.

He glared at her again, but he couldn't help but think of what he would like to wish about it. Was he really gonna die? Abby's brother had said it wasn't a cigarette, and he was a lot older. And maybe—maybe he could wish for a birthday party—

"Fine," he said haughtily, glowering at the floor. "But only because you're real annoying."

Abby smiled triumphantly and handed him one stick, and he studied it carefully. It _looked_ like a cigarette, but since Abby's brother had said it wasn't one…

"Now, on the count of three, we both have to make our wishes and think real hard about them," Abby said imperiously. "Then we have to light them right here." She pointed to the end. "Then we have to suck on the other side and then our wishes will come true."

"Are you sure?" Johnny asked dubiously. "That sounds like smoking to me."

Abby rolled her eyes. "You're being stupid again. I already told you that it's _not_."

Johnny shrugged and leaned back. "Fine."

Abby smiled, satisfied. "Okay then, hurry up and think of your wish."

"Got it," he replied immediately. "I'm gonna wish for—" 

"Don't _tell_ me," Abby interrupted, horrified. "Then it won't come true."

"Oh," Johnny snapped his mouth shut. "Okay."


	2. PaRISiNfLameS

****

Paris in Flames

By asheniel

Abby nodded and cleared her throat. "Okay, then on the count of three…one….two…three…"

Johnny concentrated on his wish, squeezing his eyes shut and imagining huge banners and streamers and balloons and clowns and cotton candy as he clutched the marijuana joint between his fingers.

"Now we gotta light them," Abby instructed. "Open your eyes." He did so, and she reached forward and lit the end of his, than hers. It glowed a fierce orange, than wispy plumes of smoke rose from it. "Quick—you gotta suck it in—like this," Abby said, taking a deep draw. Johnny immediately imitated her, and was almost instantly overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and a hot, throbbing pain in his throat. Black swam into the corners of his vision and the small room spun around him, and he fought the urge to throw up. "Abby…" He mumbled, feeling sick. "I think…I think I'm gonna…is this what's supposed to happen?" She didn't reply, and he glanced over at her, his stomach roiling queasily. "…Abby?"

"What?" She demanded, glaring fiercely at him, though her face was shiny with perspiration and she was gripping her arms so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Her skin was a pale grayish color, and she, too, looked like she was ready to vomit. 

"Is that how it was supposed to be?"

Abby glowered at him, her face pallid. "I don't know. Maybe…maybe that means our wishes came true."

"Yeah…" Johnny nodded slowly, his vision steadying. "Yeah…now they definitely worked, didn't they?"

"Uh-huh," Abby agreed. They were silent for several minutes. The extinguished marijuana joints lay innocently on the floor between them, and carefully, Abby picked them and stuck them inside her pocket.

"That was cool, wasn't it?" She said finally, turning to Johnny with a broad smile lighting her features. 

He stared at her. "I…well…was it supposed to hurt like that?" He asked dubiously.

Abby rolled her eyes, a contemptuous smirk playing on her lips. "You're such a baby," she said tauntingly, "it hardly hurt at all. You were just afraid." 

"I was not!" Johnny retorted, his cheeks flushing. "You were scared! You got all white and stuff."

"I didn't," Abby replied coolly, frowning. "I think you're just embarrassed."

Johnny glowered at her. "You're a liar."

Abby shrugged nonchalantly, and turned away. "I don't care what you think. I'm gonna do it again someday, without you." She smirked at him. "With someone that's not so scared, like you are."

Johnny opened his mouth to retort, but Abby interrupted him. "You know what I think, Johnny?"

He frowned sulkily. "I don't care."

"I think that was real romantic," Abby continued, ignoring him. "I think we should kiss, 'cause it was so romantic."

Johnny stared at her, baffled by her sudden change of subject. "I don't want to kiss you."

Abby nodded in agreement. "I don't want to kiss you neither, but when you do something romantic, you gotta kiss. It's what you're _supposed_ to do."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm smarter than you are," Abby replied impatiently. "You'll have to kiss someone one day, and when you have to, you don't want no one thinkin' that that's only the first time you did it. Otherwise, they probably won't like you anymore."

Johnny frowned doubtfully. "Who told you that?"

Abby rolled her eyes, exasperated. "My boyfriend. He's very smart."

"Oh…" Johnny pondered this for a moment. "Do I have to kiss you?"

Abby glared at him. "Johnny, I'm being very forgiving, because I already _know_ that you've never kissed a girl before. I'm just trying to help un-embarrass you. I don't _want _to kiss you, you know. Besides, if my boyfriend found out, he would be real mad."

"Okay…" Johnny said slowly, slightly confused. "Okay," he repeated. "What do I gotta do?"

Abby nodded, pleased. "You have to close your eyes and make your lips like this." She demonstrated, and he followed her example. "Now you can remember me forever," Abby said brightly, then darted forward and pecked him quickly on the lips, and drew back. 

Johnny opened his eyes, overcome by a slow shyness as he watched color set into Abby's cheeks. They looked at one another and giggled, both feeling unnaturally giddy. They didn't speak for several minutes, too busy avoiding each other's furtive glances. 

"We can't tell anyone about this, okay?" Abby said finally. "It's a secret."

Johnny nodded in agreement, fixing a solemn expression on his face. "It's a secret," he echoed, then added, "you better not go around telling no one."

Abby glared indignantly at him. "Why would _I_ tell anyone?"

"You have a real big mouth."

"I do not," Abby retorted. "You're the one that's never kissed anyone before. I wouldn't be surprised if you went around telling everybody."

Johnny glowered at her. "No I wouldn't." 

"Yeah, right," Abby sneered, rolling her eyes disbelievingly. "I think we should take an oath. That way, you have to _swear_ not to tell anyone."

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, nodding vigorously. "What's the oath?"

Abby tapped her chin thoughtfully. "We should sign our names in blood."

Johnny opened his mouth, ready to oppose this, but snapped it shut when a smirk rose to Abby's lips again when she noted his expression. "Fine," he said boldly. 

Abby nodded approvingly. "Okay. We need some paper, though."

"Don't you have any?"

She shook her head. "No."

Johnny shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh. Then what should we do?"

Abby sighed, disappointed. "There's no other oath we can do that would be as good as that one." She pouted, racking her brain for other equally gruesome schemes. "We could…we could sacrifice someone." 

"What's that?"

Abby smiled twistedly. "It's when you kill someone and use their blood to sign the oath."

"We don't have any paper," Johnny said quickly.

Abby sighed, disappointed. "There's no oaths that we can do, then," she said, pouting. "How will I know if you'll go around telling people?"

"I'm not gonna," Johnny replied defensively. "How'm _I_ supposed to know that _you_ won't go around telling people?" 

Abby rolled her eyes, not bothering to retort. "I think…hey—" she rose up, her expression brightening. "We can have a _secrecy_ oath."

"What's that?"

"It's not as good as sacrifice or anything," she explained, "but it's okay, I guess. What you gotta do is we both have to tell each other our biggest secrets ever. Like stuff you would never tell anybody, ever. Then if one of us breaks the oath, than the other can tell their worst secret, too." 

"Um…okay," Johnny said, shrugging. At least it was better than signing his name in blood. "You go first."

Abby nodded, satisfied. "Okay. I need to think about it, though." 

"Okay. I'll think too."

They sat in silence for several minutes. 

"I got it," Abby said finally, sitting up straighter. "But I already told you a lot of secret things, so mine doesn't have to be _that _secret."

"That's not fair—" Johnny started to argue, but Abby waved him quiet.

"I don't have any other secrets, anyway," she said impatiently. "This is my most secret thing I remember."

"Fine."

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell anybody this," she began, reducing her voice to a low and conspiring whisper. "My boyfriend made me swear a million times. But—" she smiled obligingly, "—_I'm_ not gonna lie or nothin' about my biggest secret." She paused importantly, and continued. "Sometimes my boyfriend makes me do dirty things."

Johnny let out a low breath, slightly disappointed at the slightly uninteresting nature of her worst secret. "Dirty things like what?"

"I don't know. He told me that they're not dirty, but _I_ know they are." She stared at Johnny seriously. "I told my brother once, and he said no one has no business making me do things like that and got real mad. I think he wanted to _kill_ my boyfriend." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "But I wouldn't let him, because my boyfriend doesn't know that I know that they're dirty, so it's not really his fault. My brother, he said that no one got no business touching me, 'cause I'm not old enough. He said I better tell my boyfriend to quit it, otherwise he's gonna be real mad." She glanced at Johnny. "He doesn't know how nice my boyfriend is to me. He hardly never yells at me like my brother's always doing. And he's real brave, trying to protect me from my dad and all. And he gives me presents. My brother _never _does that. He just tells me that he don't want to be around my boyfriend anymore." She rolled her eyes. "He's always ordering me around and hittin' me real hard. I don't like him all that much."

Johnny nodded. "Did he make you stop seeing your boyfriend?"

Abby scowled. "He tried to fight my boyfriend, but my boyfriend beat him up real good. After that, he quit yelling at me about that. He's still real mean to me, though, and he's always beating on me if I don't do what he tells me to do."

"Oh." 

"Yeah, but I don't care," Abby said boldly, sticking out her chest defiantly. "I don't gotta listen to him, just 'cause he's older. He thinks he knows everything, but he really doesn't. Me, I'm gonna tell him someday, when he can't knock me down for sayin' it." She grinned. "Maybe one day, I'll beat him up, just to give him a taste of his own medicine."

Johnny nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I'm gonna do the same thing, with my parents. They're always ordering me around, too. One day when I'm all grown up, I'll come back and show them." He paused. "And I'm not ever gonna do that to Kelly, either. I'm gonna be real nice to her and let her do whatever she wants. And I won't be yelling at her at all."

"Yeah," Abby agreed, "I'll help you. We can be her Ma and Dad. We won't be mean at all."

"I'm always gonna let her have birthday parties," Johnny countered, "and she can invite whoever she wants and she'll have cotton candy to eat, all the time."

Abby giggled. "I think we would be great parents, Johnny."

Johnny nodded in agreement. "Yeah. A whole lot better than my mom and dad, or yours."

They were quiet for several minutes, both imagining the great lives that they would live, and provide, for their children.

"Now you hafta tell me your biggest secret," Abby said finally, breaking the silence. She sat up, leaning forward so that her elbows nearly touched the floor. "It has to be your _biggest_."

Johnny nodded slowly, leaning in as well. He already knew what he was going to tell her, and his insides were quivering with intermingled apprehension and excitement. It was something that he had never told anyone, nor did he ever have any intention. But now, encouraged by the stalwart openness of the girl sitting before him, somehow he felt that his secret was an unnecessary one, one that need not be a secret. Perhaps, in comparison to the incredible drama with which Abby told her stories in, his own seemed miniscule and undramatic, in his own eyes. He wanted to tell her something to amaze her, astound her, impress her; because that was what she had done to him. 

He elicited a long, low breath, and fixed his gaze upon Abby, who was watching him in anticipation. "Now you can't tell anybody," he began in a loud stage whisper, "because then a million bad things can happen. I could even get killed, or locked up. You would be, too, because it's so bad."

"Okay, okay," Abby said impatiently, waving her hand. "I won't tell anybody. Hurry up already."

"Okay," Johnny said. "Well, I can…I found out—I realized I--…" He paused, unsure of how to explain his greatest secret to her. "I can…do this one thing. That I don't think no one else can." He glanced up at Abby, who was staring at him through curious eyes. 

"What?" She demanded. "What is it?"

"I can…I can…do scary things," Johnny said, feeling slightly nervous. To his dismay, he had broken into a fine sweat, and Abby's sharp gaze wasn't helping. He concentrated on the floor. "I can…do scary things…with fire." Almost frightened, he peered up to see Abby's reaction. 

"Huh?" She said loudly, frowning. "What do you mean, you can do scary things with fire?"

"I mean…I can…do things. I can do things that I don't think no one else can."

Abby gave him a dubious and wholly unimpressed look. "Like what?"

"Well…like…I don't know, it just happens," Johnny stammered, his cheeks getting hot. "If I think real hard, I can make the fire go…where I want it to."

Abby stared at him, irritated. "I think you're lying," she said accusingly, "I think you're lying 'cause you don't want to tell me your biggest secret." She glowered fiercely at him. "You can't lie, Johnny. I told you my biggest secret. You _have_ to tell me yours."

"I am!" Johnny said defensively, flushing. "I am! I'm not lying, Abby!"

"You're a great big liar," Abby said harshly, ignoring him, "and you won't even tell me even though you _promised_. I hate you."

"I'm not lying," Johnny cried angrily, "I'll show you! I'll show you what I can do!" When Abby pretended not to hear him, he grabbed her shoulder and shook it roughly. "I'm gonna show you! Then you'll see I'm not lying."

Abby tossed him an incredulous look. "Fine. Show me." 

"Okay." Johnny took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He took the candle that sat between them with both hands, carefully fixating his eyes upon the whitish flame. It flickered slightly, and he stared at it for several minutes, unblinking, even as his eyes started to burn and tear up. He could see Abby glaring at him beyond the candle, but he forced himself to concentrate on the brightness, narrowing his eyes until all he could see was a brilliant white.

"Nothing's happening," Abby said impatiently, sighing loudly.

Johnny ignored her, blinking away the water that had accumulated in his eyes. The flame flickered once, then again. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do or even how he would do it, but somehow he could feel a weirdish adrenaline that rushed through his system as his focus upon the flame increased, and with the adrenaline came a certain energy that drew the flame within reach of his mind so that he could—_almost_—control it. 

The flame flickered again. His eyes burned; so much that he almost cried out or removed his gaze from the flame entirely. Then it started to flicker faster and faster and faster, so fast that it was gyrating about crazily in frenzied circles, and started to stretch higher and higher. Johnny blinked, astounded, and though he had lost his concentration, the flame was still dancing frantically and snaking towards the ceiling. It burned a blinding white, and Johnny gazed past it at Abby, his heart pounding wildly and a broad smile growing on his face. 

"See?" He cried, his eyes shining, "_see?_ I wasn't lying, Abby! I can do it! Look what I did! I made the fire _move_, Abby! I wasn't lying!" He looked at her, somehow expecting her to burst into laughter, or applause, or shouts of enthusiasm. Instead, she was eyeing him with an uncertain, almost wary look in her eyes. She didn't say anything at all, and for a moment they just stared at one another. The flame continued to rise, and was now grazing the low ceiling, although Johnny had long since removed his gaze from it. 

"Johnny?" Abby said faintly, her lips barely moving as she spoke. Her eyes drifted across the glaring flame and she lowered her gaze with a weird, subdued passiveness. "I think…you're a lunatic." Then she bit her lip as if she was about to cry, and stared at the floor.

Johnny stared at her, not comprehending. "But…Abby! I did do it! You saw it yourself, didn't you…?" He trailed off, his eyes wide. "Abby…I did do it. You saw it, I know you did." 

The flame was thickening, licking gently at the wooden planks. The air hung with an almost gummy feel to it, dense with smoke, although the trapdoor still lay open, and perspiration clung to the back of Johnny's T-shirt. He stared at Abby, vainly attempting to decipher the illegible expression on her face, suddenly feeling extremely afraid. "Abby?"

"You're crazy," she said flatly. "I'm not staying here anymore."

Johnny gaped at her, aghast. "But…Abby, you saw it. I did it—why don't you believe me?"

Abby's lip trembled. "I believe you, but you're still crazy and you better put that fire out now and get out of here and never talk to me again." 

Johnny stared, feeling sick to his stomach, like someone had just knocked the wind out of him. "No…it's not like that," he started to explain, his voice shaking, "it's not…I'm not crazy. I don't do it on purpose…"

Abby bit her lip, looking as if she wanted to scream or cry. "Get out of here."

Johnny started to protest again, feeling almost nauseated by the chilling behavior of his—friend. "Abby…"

"Get out!" Abby was shaking violently now, her face reduced to a doughy gray color. "Get out get out get out! _Get out!_" 

Johnny bolted to his feet and scrambled toward the trapdoor, brushing past the still-burning flame, and suddenly all too aware of his painfully stinging eyes and the harsh smell of scorching wood. 

"Put out the fire!" Abby screamed, grabbing his arm abruptly. Through the hazy cloud of smoke, her eyes shone with intermingled terror and animosity, and Johnny wrenched himself free, his heart pounding wildly. 

"I can't! I don't know how!" Then he pulled himself up the trapdoor and started running toward the stairs, too panicked to comprehend what was happening. As he yanked open the heavy door and was engulfed in a refreshing flood of sunlight, Abby started to scream behind him. He hesitated, and turned around as she emerged from the trapdoor, her thin face streaked with sweat and contorted with rage. "You ruined it!" She shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Johnny, who stood frozen in the doorway, haloed by light. "You ruined it! You're a lunatic! You ruined my hide-out and you're crazy! You—I'm gonna—just go away! Get out of here!" Then she burst into tears as flames started to chew away at the trapdoor. "_Go away_!" She started to run at him when he remained rooted at the spot, so he turned and ran as well; out the door, out the building, through the empty field littered with rusted dumpsters. 

He ran blindly, tears blurring his vision and his own heart pounding so loudly that it swallowed up all other sounds. He didn't look behind him to see if Abby had gotten out, just went on running as fast as he could, not slowing down until he reached his own backyard. For a fleeting second, he remembered his wish and even felt slightest twinge of hope that it had come true.

A loud roar of laughter greeted him, and he turned, his eyes still burning, in the direction of the back porch, where his father and the other men sat, drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. They either ignored him or didn't notice him, and as Johnny stood there, still reeling with shock and exhaustion from his sprint, he noticed that his mother was still visible through the kitchen window, half-drunk with a cigarette dangling from her lip. She was laughing.

Johnny took a step in the direction of the house, his heart still throbbing in his ears. A decaying fire wavered feebly from the grill that was perched in the middle of the yard. Perspiration dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it away stiffly, carefully uncomprehending of how little time had passed. Thirty minutes? Thirty seconds? Had he never left at all? Why—he gazed at his parents, watching in morbid fascination as they smoked their cigarettes and drank their beers—why, when the world had just toppled and burned before his very eyes, why did they _not notice_? 

He started to call out to them, because at the moment, he wanted someone to comfort him, even though that someone would be his parents. But the hoarse cry died in his throat as he watched them so that all he could do was stand there and stare, eyes wide. 

Minutes passed and the sun was just starting to set before his mother came out to him, still clutching her cigarette, although she had relieved herself of all motherly concern earlier that evening. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" She demanded, grabbing his shoulder. "Johnny? Johnny? Look at me!" She gave him a rough shake and he looked at her, suddenly feeling extremely tired, as if he had been standing there for days. "What's wrong with you?"

Johnny shook his head and bit his lip, lowering his gaze back to the ground. "Just tired," he whispered. "Can I go to bed now?" 

She stared at him incredulously. "What? Where the hell have you been? Did you know that you let the burgers burn? Where did you go?" 

Johnny shook his head again, fiercely biting back the familiar tears. "I was…tired."

She narrowed her eyes. "Where were you?"

Johnny shrugged, looking away. "I was tired," he repeated, unconvincingly. 

She gaped, her eyes darkening. Grabbing both of his shoulders, she forced him to face her. "I will ask you one more time, Johnny_. Where the hell were you_?"

Johnny trembled and focused on the grill with the dying fire, the orange flames fluttering helplessly across the blazing embers. "I was…doing stuff."

There was a moment of furious silence, and then his mother slapped him across the face. "If you _ever_ run off without getting permission again, I'll have your father take the belt to you. Understand?" 

Johnny nodded slowly, his cheek stinging and starting to swell. He bit his lip hard, swallowing his tears. "I understand…Mom."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then let go of him. "Watch the fire. When I come and get you, you can go to bed." She turned on her heel and headed back toward the house, leaving her son standing there, touching his cheek gently and gazing after her. Then he looked at the fire. It trembled, nearly dead, and Johnny felt a sudden warmth rush through his veins as he watched the weakly flickering flames. Casually, they swelled and rose higher as Johnny looked at them, not concentrating, barely even noticing them. As they cleared his own height, the flames started to tilt toward the house, lusting to devour this apprentice of hell. No one noticed. 

Then the fire hissed, like air being sucked into a vacuum, and died. Johnny sat down in front of it.

****

end of story

::Authors Notes:: I finally finished it! The ending's kind of anticlimatic, but…it's better than Johnny going insane and blowing everyone up, right? Just what I thought. ^-^ Um…reviews are good! But if you want a little explanation about Abby, read on.

-A Note on Abby- I'm not sure if this was made clear enough in the story, but Abby's a girl that's (obviously) surrounded by abusive relationships from all sides: her father, brother, and "boyfriend". It's not completely fair to say that any are outright abuse, though—her brother, for example, clearly cares for his younger sister, but chooses physically violent ways to display his caring. Her "boyfriend", as well, watches out for her as an older brother would, but also takes advantage of her innocence by "making her do dirty things," as she put it. I just wasn't sure if that was obvious enough.


End file.
